


flos primula

by handydandynotebook



Series: primis tenebris flos [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Lives, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03, Relationship Study, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handydandynotebook/pseuds/handydandynotebook
Summary: Susan thinks about smoothing the sweaty fringe back from his forehead. Thinks about stroking her fingers through his hair like she does for Max when Max isn’t feeling well. But Billy isn’t Max, of course, so she sips her coffee and sits back down instead.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Susan Hargrove
Series: primis tenebris flos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897387
Comments: 9
Kudos: 89





	flos primula

**Author's Note:**

> edited as of 8-10-20. had this up for like 3 wks before realizing i deleted a part i changed my mind about deleting fml.

In the wake of the disaster at Starcourt Mall, Susan’s stepson is circling the drain. He was practically eviscerated by the shrapnel. Max claims it happened in an effort to keep it from hitting her and her friends. Somehow, that’s the part that shocks Susan more than anything. 

Billy is many things and protective isn’t one of them. Not unless Neil is pushing him to be. It’s no secret to her that he’s never particularly cared for Max, possibly even resents her for things Susan is too strained to think about too deeply. Susan never thought Billy particularly cared about anyone or anything at all, least of all Max and her friends. But that’s what Max swears happened, with something fierce and raw in her eyes under the unshed tears, quiver in her lip that makes Susan clutch her tight. 

It’s when she’s holding her daughter, kissing her head and inhaling her scent, and feeling her tremble, that the realization it could’ve been Max hits her full force. A lump rises in her throat and her stomach’s in ropes, and for the first time she can recall in recent memory, she feels awash with things for Billy that aren’t exasperation or wariness. She’ll thank him from the bottom of her heart, maybe even hug him if he lets her, if she ever gets the chance…

So far, the odds aren’t good. 

Just under 24 hours post admittance and Billy’s already had more emergency procedures than Susan can count on her hands. He’s lost critical amounts of blood, a kidney, his spleen, an irreparably perforated portion of his colon. Then there’s the fractured sternum and ribs, the punctured lung, flesh of his whole torso practically torn to ribbons. 

No, it isn’t good at all. Billy’s got stubbornness on his side, but that’s about it. Susan sends Max on a mission to get her a salad from the food court while she and Neil are thoroughly prepared for the possibility of the worst outcome by professionals in white coats blinking weary eyes. She chews the inside of her cheek and numbly nods in all the right places, knuckles clenched painfully tight around her purse strap. They’re doing everything they can, but the sheer severity of injuries like this and the potential complications simply don’t paint a particularly promising picture. 

Susan has never seen Neil so subdued. He doesn’t cry like she does, sniffling into a crumbly ball of tissue, but his face is drawn and pale. 

Not nearly as pale as Billy’s is, when they eventually gather themselves up and step into his room. Only two visitors are typically allowed in the ICU, but no one stops her from tugging Max along, like Susan was silently fretting. This is when Max’s hand slips out of hers and takes the one of Billy’s that isn’t attached to an IV drip.

Susan does her best to avoid vulgar language. It isn’t ladylike, isn’t proper. She especially refrains from taking the Lord’s name in vain. Blasphemy has no place in her mouth. But when she looks at her stepson, the first thoughts that pop into her head are, _Jesus Christ_ and _holy shit_ , respectfully. He’s so pale it’s ghastly, slack and wan under the papery hospital blanket. Thick, layered bandages peek out under the neckline of a gown as thin as cellophane. Nasal cannula, chest tube, wires and monitors. 

Susan is half-expecting him to flatline right on the spot and instead, is so startled, she nearly jumps when his eyes creak open. 

“Hi,” Max says, soft and uncertain. Almost like it’s a tentative joke she isn’t quite sure will land. 

Billy slowly blinks at her, parts his lips as if to speak…and then doesn’t. It doesn’t look like he can and Susan doesn’t know if it’s because he’s too doped up to form words, if his throat’s too tender after intubation, or if he’s just too weak. Closing his mouth, he glances down to their joined hands. Max’s lips twitch and she gives his a little squeeze. 

Neil lumbers his way to the bed and Susan automatically tenses, alert. There are always reasons for Neil to be angry with Billy, reasons that don’t necessarily have to make sense to anyone but Neil for that anger to be explosive. He reaches out and Susan thinks she recognizes the flash of resignation in Billy’s eyes, even under the haze of opioids. But the strike she’s sure he’s expecting never comes, as Neil just pats him on the shoulder. 

“Your sister told us you did a brave thing for her and her friends,” he mutters, offhanded but not displeased. “Glad to see you’ve finally taken our talks about responsibility to heart.” 

Susan bites the inside of her cheek so hard she draws blood, choking on it and the sour taste of things she doesn’t say to Neil. Things she does not dare say to Neil, no matter what.

Billy wets his lips with his tongue and it seems like he might attempt to speak again. But his gaze slips back down to Max holding his hand. He turns his beneath hers until their palms are together and feebly folds his fingers over the stretch of skin between her wrist and her pinkie. Max stretches her thumb, gingerly resting it over the inside of his wrist, right where you’d take a pulse. Susan finds herself wondering if it’s to keep tabs on his heartbeat, to make sure it stays steady as his eyelids droop closed. 

* * *

Billy sleeps through almost the entirety of the second day, all kinds of heavily medicated. Susan thinks it’s the most at peace she’s ever seen him, and acknowledging that does deeply uncomfortable things to her own insides that she doesn’t want to think about. 

Neil is stoic and his silence feels like dark clouds hanging overhead, full of thunderstorms brewing. He clenches his jaw and paces around like an agitated lion. Susan will not speak to him unless prompted, recognizes now as a time to tread around Neil with especially light steps. 

Max reads comic books and rides her skateboard in the parking lot even though Susan told her not to. Susan lets it slide because Max has otherwise been very obedient and appropriately quiet, even when Susan can sense her nervous energy. If she’s going to skateboard, better in the parking lot than in the ICU. 

* * *

Billy makes it through the second night and into the third day. He’s spiked a fever and while Susan is told it’s not a particularly unusual symptom given the kind of trauma his body’s been through, it’s not something that can be dismissed, either. It could be nothing, but it could also be the first sign of a new danger developing and Billy almost certainly isn’t strong enough to handle an infection on top of everything else. 

Susan decides she’s going to spend the day in the hospital, just to be around, even if there’s not anything she can actually do. Max accompanies her, reading comics while Billy dozes and Susan does crossword puzzles with a blue ballpoint pen. Neil isn’t here. It didn’t take Susan much effort to convince him to go to work instead. He’s never had much of a bedside manner and he isn’t a patient man. 

As wretched as the idea is, Susan almost thinks it’s the waiting game that’s eating at Neil more than what actually happened. The uncertainty, the exhaustion of it, of wondering whether or not Billy will bounce back or slowly succumb to his injuries. It’s almost like if Billy were going to die, Neil would rather him get it over with than have to be on standby and deal with the dread of waiting for the worst. 

At one point, Susan steps out of the room to get a cup of coffee. On her way back, steaming paper cup in hands, she hears voices and stops short of entering the room. Stops and stays hovering a few yards back from the doorway. 

“Why are you here?” Billy’s asking, low and throaty. 

“Because,” Max answers, tart and clear. “You’re a piece of shit but you’re still family.” 

Susan balks, abjectly mortified. Max should not be using such foul language at all, but especially not here, especially not— 

Billy laughs. It’s biting, something brittle in it, but laughter nonetheless. It wheedles into a wheeze and then a groan at the end.

“Hey, you okay?” 

“M’shitting out of a bag, Max,” he grunts, “what do you think?” 

Susan gives herself a shake and interrupts before she has to hear the word _shit_ a third time. 

“Morning,” she chirps as she steps through the doorway, putting on a smile. 

Billy blearily blinks up at her, gives her one of those guarded looks he does sometimes that’s she’s ever quite sure what to make of. They tend not to interact much. Billy makes himself scarce at home more often than he doesn’t. Susan doesn’t go out of her way to stop him. It’s easier for everyone when there’s space between Billy and Neil. 

He greets her with a small nod. Susan notices some perspiration beaded at his temples. Without really thinking, she lays the back of her hand to his forehead. It’s what she’d do with Max…but Billy is _not_ Max and he seems outright taken aback by the action. Stares up at her as if she’d grown a second head. 

Susan catches herself and draws back. 

“Sorry, it’s just— well, you’re still running pretty warm. Are you feeling sick at all?” 

“Does sick of this place count?” Billy arches a brow. He sounds more tired than irritable, but even if he was irritated, Susan couldn’t hold it against him. “Everything smells like hand sanitizer.” 

“Smells better than your body spray,” Max huffs lightly, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. 

“Max…” Susan gives her a reproachful look. 

“Okay,” Max relents, rolling her eyes and then turning to Billy. “Your body spray doesn’t stink, exactly, but you put way too much on. Sometimes I can’t even breathe in your car.” 

Sudden uncertainty passes over Billy’s face and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Do I still have a car?” 

Max’s nose scrunches up and she wiggles her hand in an iffy motion. “It’s in pretty bad shape, it won’t even start. I think Neil wants to call the junkyard.” 

“Course he does,” Billy shifts like he might sit up, muscles tensing. But it’s either too painful or he simply can’t gather the strength, and Susan’s heart pangs when he just stops halfway, going rigid, eyes wide almost like he’s spooked. He squeezes them shut as he gives up, inexorably sinking back to the bed, greasy blonde curls fanning over the pillow. 

“Is Neil here?” he asks once he’s down, eyes still shut. 

“No, he’s working today,” Susan murmurs. 

Billy releases a sigh that might be relief, or exhaustion, or some combination of both. 

“I’m going to run Max home in a little bit,” Susan continues, sipping her coffee. Max has been impressively well-behaved during all of this, but Susan can tell she’s getting restless and she really could use a break. “Is there anything you want me to bring back for you, Billy?” 

“Pack of cigarettes.” 

“You’re on oxygen, stupid,” Max scoffs. 

“S’just a joke.” Billy’s eyes flutter open again, bleary gaze drifting over them both, settling on Susan. “Why’re you coming back? Am I going under the knife again, or something?” 

“N-No…” Susan looks into her coffee cup, self-consciously tucks a loose hair back behind her ear. “I just planned on coming back, that’s all.” 

“Don’t know what Neil told you, but I don’t need a babysitter,” he mutters flatly. 

For a moment, Susan wonders if maybe she should just go home with Max. She and Billy aren’t exactly on good terms. They are members of the same household with certain silent understandings between them. They are two very different people in two very different hostage situations. Susan makes the best of hers because she’s known worse ones, while Billy digs his own grave deeper with every little rebellion and Susan’s become so familiar with pretending not to see it, that she’s honestly not sure if he knows how to do anything else. 

They make up a family unit, but they’ve never truly been family. The closest they come are those times when Susan cooks something she knows Billy likes for dinner, and makes sure to put extra on his plate. Those times where Neil isn’t around to mow the lawn and Billy does it instead of watching her struggle just to start the darn thing. When he sees her getting ready to plug in the vacuum cleaner and moves his weights aside without her having to ask. 

Billy cares for Susan’s presence about as much as she cares for his, which typically varies between ambivalence and indifference on most days. But the past few days haven’t been anything like most days. This is the probably the longest he’s been coherent in 72 hours and he’s in such a state he can’t stand up or take food any thicker than yogurt, and as he so delicately described to her daughter, he’s shitting out of a bag. She doesn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone like this, and she still hasn’t told him the things she needs to. 

Can’t bring herself to say them with Max here. She might cry and she doesn’t want Max to see her cry any more than she already has. 

“Quit being a jerk to my mom,” Max demands without any real sting, her sneakers toeing against the tile. “You almost died, she’s allowed to fuss.” 

Billy glances to her and for a long moment they hold each other’s gazes. Susan isn’t sure what exactly changed that night at Starcourt, but evidently something did, because he exhales and concedes with no further protest. 

“Whatever you wanna do, Susan,” he mumbles, blinking her way. 

“I’m coming back,” she repeats, offering a smile as she nods her head. 

“Okay,” Billy says, impassive. 

Susan thinks about smoothing the sweaty fringe back from his forehead. Thinks about stroking her fingers through his hair like she does for Max when Max isn’t feeling well. But Billy isn’t Max, of course, so she sips her coffee and sits back down instead. 

* * *

Four days post admittance and Billy is still sticking around. Susan's always known him to be sturdy and it's a trait that's served him well, one she crosses her fingers with hope is going to hold out. Fever seems to have been a fluke thing, it broke by itself sometime in the night. He’s still sleeping a lot, but when he is up, he’s aware and it builds her confidence. Though, Susan hasn’t gotten an opportunity to thank him yet. 

She’d meant to last night, but by the time she came back, he was dozing again and not long after that, Neil’s shift ended and he came to sit with him for a bit, while she went home to make dinner. Susan felt wary leaving him alone with Billy, but it wasn’t exactly as if she’d had a choice. Luckily it hadn’t been for long. 

Neil had come home after an hour or so with nothing new to report just as Susan was taking the chicken out of the oven. Susan is beginning to think the hospital atmosphere makes Neil uncomfortable, somehow, peculiarly so. He won’t stay longer than he has to, she doesn’t believe, and that’s definitely a good thing for Billy. 

Susan, on the other hand, plans to spend the day here as much as she can. Max offered to come again, but Susan dropped her off to spend time with her friends instead. Max could come later, Billy’s stable enough to be able to count on there being a later, now. 

Susan occupies herself with more crossword puzzles and word searches, spare pen tucked behind her ear in case the one she’s using runs out of ink. She glances up from the pages here and there, peeking at her stepson. Watches the rise and fall of his chest, flits her eyes over the boxy monitor and the numbers and lines squiggling across it. 

At one point, when she peeks up, she finds him looking back at her. His gaze is a bit brighter than it was yesterday. More alert. 

“Good morning,” Susan offers warmly. 

There is a pause. Billy slowly blinks at her. 

“Max here?” 

“No. She’s out with friends.” 

“Then we don’t have to beat around the bush and you can just be upfront if I’m on my way out, right?” Billy cocks his head. 

Susan can’t keep her jaw from falling open. 

“You’re still here, sitting around like you’re waiting for something. That it? You think I’m gonna croak?” he asks point blank, so expressionless it unnerves her. 

“N-No,” Susan splutters, putting a hand over her stricken heart. “I mean, y-you’re doing so much better…” 

She thinks she’s telling the truth. It feels like the truth, compared to the way he was when they brought him in. She doesn’t want to consider the possibility of Billy backsliding, let alone speak it into existence. 

“Oh.” 

He looks up to the ceiling and doesn’t say anything after that. Susan fidgets and anxiously fiddles with her books. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Weird, I guess.” 

“Do you need anything?” she asks. “Do you want me to get someone?” 

Billy turns back to her and gives her a perplexed look. Like he can’t figure out what her deal is. 

“I’m, um…I’m trying to help, Billy,” Susan murmurs, swallowing with a pang of guilt. “I realize I haven’t always been good at that…I’m sorry.” 

Surprise flickers over his face. 

“I should’ve been more help before,” she declares, silently burning with shame. “I need to start stepping in when—“ 

“No,” he cuts her off. 

The words wither in her throat and Susan sucks her lip between her teeth. 

“I’m twice your size,” he blurts. “Neil hits me and maybe I’ve got a bruise or two, whatever. Neil hits you, you’re cold-clocked on the fucking floor. Who does that help?” 

“It’s different with me, he wouldn’t—“ 

“He could.” 

Billy’s eyes are hard and Susan closes her mouth, because, well, of course he could. As much as she doesn’t want to believe it, there’s no doubt he could. Any of them could. She’s known all kinds of men in her life and even the kindest ones who held her gently and kissed her sweet as strawberry pie could become something else if she made the wrong move. And Neil’s never been as genial as any of those ones ever were. 

“You know what, maybe you should step in. You wanna help me, Susan?” Billy grins the feral way a junkyard dog bears its teeth. “Be my guest. Maybe I wanna see you on the floor.” 

Susan all but flinches, stung. Billy’s gotten his barbs in before, but this is without a doubt the cruelest thing he’s ever actually said to her. Susan wrings her hands and for the first time today contemplates leaving. 

_Oh._

She believes she’s just realized something. 

Susan looks up from her twitchy, too nervous fingers to her sickly, too pale stepson and clears her throat. 

“I don’t think you mean that,” she states calmly. “I think you’re just trying to make me leave.” 

Billy scoffs irritably and levels a glower at the guardrail on the bed. 

“Nobody gives a flying fuck what you think,” he grumbles and it's less venomous than before, ringing out almost resigned. “Especially not me.” 

“Especially not Neil,” Susan bitterly blurts without thought, shocking herself by merely voicing such a thing aloud. 

Billy glances up again, seeming just as shocked. 

“Fuck it...don't actually do anything stupid just 'cause you feel fed up. Keep staying out of his way, Susan,” he reasserts gruffly. “S’better for you that way. Better for Max too.”

“She told me what you did, you know,” Susan murmurs. 

Billy’s eyes widen. “What?” 

“At Starcourt,” she explains, breath hitching, “how you protected her and her friends from the shrapnel.” 

“Shrapnel,” he repeats, almost as if it’s a novel concept. “Right…” 

“I wanted to thank you,” she goes on, unable to keep her voice from thickening with emotion, moisture springing to her eyes. “Thank you so much, truly, I can’t thank you enough. I don’t think my daughter would be alive if it weren’t for you.” 

Billy goes ghost white, face draining of the little color it’d had. Before Susan can ask what’s wrong, his hand clamps over his mouth and she immediately _knows_. She hastily grabs the the wastebasket under the windowsill and thrusts it toward him. Billy snatches it with a strength that surprises her given the state he’s in, hooking his chin over the rim. 

Susan winces as he throws up, feeling rather ill herself at the unpleasant sound of liquid hitting the plastic liner. He coughs a bit after, hisses a curse through his teeth. Susan gives him a few moments to recover before she speaks up. 

“Are you done?” 

Billy nods, crudely spitting into the basket. A grimace folds his mouth as he hands it back to her. Susan tries not to make it obvious that she searches the contents for blood as she puts it back beneath the windowsill. Fortunately, there isn’t. No blood. Just bile.

There’s a bit of mess left clinging to the corner of his lips and Susan fishes for the pocket pack of tissues in her purse. She takes a few out and nervously wads them together. 

“You’ve got a little, um…I’ll just get it, okay?” 

Billy doesn’t rebuff her when she wipes his mouth. He lets it happen with an unreadable expression and Susan disposes of the tissues in the wastebasket before squirting a glob of pocket sanitizer on her hands. She briskly rubs them together, the sharp scent of alcohol burning her nose. 

Billy readjusts, getting more comfortable. He didn’t make it all the way upright to vomit, but propped up on his elbows and kept one hand on the guardrail for support. When he’s settled back, he turns to the wall. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Susan asks gently.

“What?” 

“The disaster at the mall.” 

For a long moment, there’s no response. Susan supposes she should resign herself to being ignored by him and that she really shouldn’t have hoped for much better, all things considered. It’s Billy. 

But eventually, still turned to the wall, he speaks so quietly, it’s almost a whisper. 

“I didn’t expect to make it out of there.” 

“But you did,” Susan tells him in a way she hopes sounds reassuring, taking a few hesitant steps toward the bed. “You’re here now…and so am I.” 

Anxiously, she swallows. What she’d really like to do is hug him, but it’s Billy, and she has no reason to believe Billy would be receptive to that. Though it seems like she’s getting somewhere, at least, so she presses her luck and cups his cheek in a gentle hand. 

“Thank you, Billy. Thank you, again.” 

Billy makes a noncommittal sound in his throat and just when Susan is going to draw back, he leans the slightest bit into her touch, eyes falling half-lidded. She gingerly strokes her thumb along his cheekbone, tip of her nail slipping under the narrow tube of the cannula. She’s touched Billy more the past four days than she has the past four years, never quite felt like she could before, even on those decidedly rare occasions she’d felt close enough to want to. 

Always too frightened of him, really. Ever since she's been with Neil, he's done nothing but get bigger and angrier, all the while she's shrunk further into herself and grown guiltier. But she’s gushing with gratitude that her daughter left the Starcourt disaster virtually unscathed, and for the time being Billy is docile, dare she even suggest content. No, she shouldn’t go that far. Susan doesn’t actually know what contentment looks like on Billy. 

But she does know she’s not hallucinating the craning of his cheek into her touch and that when she does finally retract her hand, she does so slowly and his features aren’t set quite so hard. Settling back into her chair, Susan opens her puzzle book again and taps her pen against the page. 

“Can you think of a three-letter word for a hive dweller?” 

“What.” 

“We’re doing a crossword puzzle,” she ventures tentatively. 

Initially, it seems the moment, or whatever it was, has passed. Billy looks up to the ceiling again and Susan’s heart sinks with the sense she’s been rejected. Then his tongue flicks over his lips and he exhales an idle sound. 

“Bee, maybe? Honeycombs are hives, right?” 

Beaming, Susan fills in the spaces. 

**Author's Note:**

> i've never actually watched stranger things. all i know about stranger things comes from playing dbd, seeing some clips, and reading wiki. hence, this is probably egregiously ooc. but i have a penchant for troubled familial relationships, so. whatever.


End file.
